Don't Forget Me
by Grissom
Summary: A case comes back to haunt Grissom, literally.


**A/N: Special thanks to Cincoflex for the last-minute beta job and the kind words. Thanks to Megz and Miss Cam as well for putting up with me sending it them and going "What about this?" over and over.**

**Don't Forget Me**

It wasn't supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be just another case, tucked away into the recesses of his memory, only brought to the surface if it pertained to another file. It wasn't supposed to stay with him day and night, long after the case had been solved and the culprit put behind bars.

Yet, Grissom found himself sitting behind his desk, lost in his memories. Memories of a room covered in blood. Memories of a sneering man with no regret. Memories of a little girl who had retreated so far into herself that she no longer spoke.

He could still see the girl as clearly as if she were standing before him. Her dark hair falling over her shoulders, framing a pretty face. A slight build, one not so different from most eight-year-olds.

But it was her eyes that held him. A deep brown, they were completely devoid of all emotion. Looking into them was like looking into a poorly painted portrait. There was nothing there. As if the girl was now an empty shell.

He sighed and pushed the case to the back of his mind where he felt it belonged, turning his attention to the paperwork that was slowly taking over the surface of his desk. Most of it consisted of case reviews, which he glanced over before scribbling his name. It was tedious work, but it kept his mind from wandering.

The end of shift was upon Grissom before he knew it. And it was only brought to his attention by some insistent rapping on his door. He frowned and looked up, seeing Sara studying him with a concerned expression. He studied her tall figure for a moment, trying to remember when the last time was that she haunted his doorway.

"Shift's up," Sara said quickly, cutting into his thoughts again. "The guys are going to get some breakfast. You interested?"

Grissom opened his mouth to reply, but a shadow beside Sara distracted him. He squinted his eyes, trying to make out the form. There was something familiar about it, but...

The sound of crashing ceramic brought him back to the present, and he found himself staring at the shattered remains of his coffee cup strewn about his desk. Sara was at his side in an instant, rescuing his papers before the cold brew could render them illegible. He watched her for a moment before shaking himself out of his reverie and helping her.

He avoided looking at her as he swept the pieces into his trash bin, cursing himself for his carelessness. He hoped Catherine wouldn't notice that her mug was missing…

"Grissom…" Sara's soft voice said, very close to his ear. He turned to her, finding her only a few inches from his face. She was studying him intently, searching his eyes for any clues to his odd behaviour. But whether by accident or design, he diverted his eyes back to the task of cleaning off his desk.

"I'm sorry, Sara. I wasn't paying any attention to what I was doing."

"I was just asking if you wanted to join me and the boys for breakfast. But Grissom, is something-"

He cut her off with a shake of the head. "No. I think I'll have to pass this time. I've…uh…got some things I have to take care of before I call it a night." He gave her a small smile, futilely hoping that it would convince her.

He could tell by her expression that it had failed miserably, but she thankfully didn't press the point. Instead, she nodded and tossed the last chunk of ceramic into the bin. "Okay. See you tonight then."

With that, she swept out of the room, completely unaware of what she had left in her wake.

Grissom stared at the spot where she had disappeared, then turned to the place he had seen the shadow earlier. He groaned and put his face in his hands.

The little girl was still there, staring at him with wide, empty eyes.

* * *

The silence that greeted Grissom in his apartment was a welcome change from the traffic he had faced on his way home. He was sure that human nature was at its worse when placed behind the wheel of a two-ton hunk of metal. Not that he would ever mention it to any of his co-workers.

He threw his keys onto his coffee table, only pausing to divest himself of his jacket and shoes. Then he made a beeline for the bathroom, thoughts of a warm shower going through his mind. A quick shower, then it was off to sleep, praying that the dreams wouldn't come again.

When he stepped beneath the warm spray, he stood for a moment, simply allowing himself to feel the water as it cascaded over his body. He tried to envision the water and steam pulling the weariness from his bones, letting it evaporate into the air.

But in his mind, all he saw was blood. Blood pouring from the shower head and covering his body. Running down his back and pooling at his feet in a crimson puddle.

His eyes jerked open and he panicked for a moment before realizing that there was no blood. Just water. Clean, clear water. He clenched his eyes shut, trying to banish the unbidden horrors from his mind.

He stepped out of the bathroom ten minutes later, not feeling a bit refreshed. Instead, he just felt all the more weary and tainted. He stood in the middle of his townhouse, feeling lost. Finally, he made his way to the window to stare at the busy street below.

He was so lost in himself that he almost didn't feel the slight wind as it blew through his living room, ruffling his t-shirt. A chill ran down his spine and seemed to settle in the pit of his stomach, causing it to churn. He suddenly felt the urge to vomit up what little food he had consumed that night but fought it down.

He felt something cool and smooth touch his hand gently, slowly enveloping it. He closed his eyes and willed for it to go away, but the presence stayed, gripping his hand. He pried his eyes opened and forced himself to look down, meeting a pair of brown eyes.

She was a lot skinnier than he remembered from the interviews, and her plain white gown seemed worn and far too big for her. There were faint forms of teddy bears on the gown, but they were so faded that they were nearly invisible. Her hair was dirty and limp, hanging over her shoulders.

But what Grissom truly noticed were her eyes. They were no longer blank, devoid of emotion as he had become accustomed to when thinking of the girl. Instead, she was peering at him with curiosity

He looked down at his hand, seeing her slight, pale one grasping it. She tugged on it, forcing him to look away from them to her. "You won't forget me, will you?" she asked, her voice soft and disembodied, seeming to come from all around him. The expression on her face turned to one of desperation and fear.

He stared at the little girl for a long time, trying to decide whether he had truly gone mad or not. He jumped when his phone rang, and when he looked back at the spot where the girl had stood, she was gone. And his hand was left empty, but cold. He studied the spot where she had been until the insistent ringing of his phone pulled him away again.

He crossed the distance to his phone in three steps, fumbling with the contraption for a moment before putting it to his ear. "Yeah?" he snapped.

"Well, that's no way to greet a friend," Catherine's voice rang out, sounding unusually chipper.

"Hello, Catherine. What can I do for you today?"

"I was just calling to see how you were doing. Am I not allowed to do that? Some new Grissom-esque taboo that I wasn't aware of?"

Grissom sighed and sank down onto his small couch. "What did Sara tell you?"

He could practically hear Catherine puff herself up, preparing a vehement defense for herself. He was beginning to regret ever having brought Sara into the conversation. His slip-up was going to earn him a nice, long lecture from Catherine.

But she surprised him, deflating herself before she even began to speak. "She just said that you seemed a little pre-occupied today. She…we were all concerned, Gil."

"I'm fine," he answered flatly, hoping that Catherine would take a hint and leave him be. But this was Catherine, the Queen of Meddling.

"You know, Gil, it's okay if things are bothering you. It's not going to break our hearts if you suddenly decided that you feel something. You might feel better if you…you know….let it out."

"Thank you, Catherine. When I decide to 'let it out', I'll hold a meeting in the breakroom. At least then the guys will see it firsthand and not hear it through the lab grapevine."

He heard Catherine sigh. "All right, Gil. You don't want help. Not that you don't need it, you don't want it. Sorry to bother you." With that, she hung up, leaving Grissom listening to the dial tone and wondering how he was going to patch this rift in their friendship. His regret quickly turned to anger, trying to figure out what the hell Catherine had to be mad at. Surely she realized that she had said far more snarky things to him in the years they had known each other.

He stood up and threw the phone onto the couch, walking away as he heard it clatter to the floor. He went into his bedroom, pausing only long enough to turn on the alarm on his clock before sinking onto the bed. He was asleep within moments.

* * *

Sara glanced at the clock in the break room, tapping her pen on the table. Nick yawned and leaned back in his chair, crying out when Warrick threatened to tip it over the rest of the way. His face reddened, and he threatened Warrick good-naturedly with a fist to the face.

Warrick brushed him off with a smirk, which softened when he turned to Sara. He scooted his chair closer to hers. "What's up?" he asked.

Sara started a bit at the sound of his voice, but tried to cover it up by standing. "Nothing. It's just…Have you guys heard from Grissom?"

Nick shook his head. "Not today. He was still in his office when we left last shift." He frowned. "He went home, right?"

"I'm sure he did. His office is still closed."

Warrick shrugged. "Maybe he's takin' a sick day. He seemed a little off, don't you think?"

Sara nodded slightly, her mind wander to her encounter with him the previous shift. He'd seemed so far away. Surprising Nick and Warrick, she whirled and disappeared out of the room.

The boys exchanged glances, neither quite sure of what was going on.

* * *

Someone was crying softly, the slight sound echoing throughout the narrow hallway. It seemed to come from everywhere, as if the air itself were weeping. The constant drip of a broken water pipe only served to feed the illusion.

Grissom walked down the hall, shoes splashing in the water with each step he took. He had no idea where he was, but seemed to know exactly where he needed to go. He passed door after door, each one rusted and worn, all the same.

He turned a corner, not even pausing to peer inside of an open door to the waterlogged room beyond. It wasn't where he was supposed to go. He knew this. Finally he stopped, turning to face a door, not unlike the others. But this was where he was meant to go.

Without a moment of hesitation, he gripped the cold handle and turned. The door swung open slowly with a teeth-grinding creak. He was assaulted by a myriad of smells, none of them pleasant. He wrinkled his nose, then stepped further into the room.

It was similar to the rooms he had seen in mental institutions. Bare, white walls, water marks on the ceiling, dust on the floor. There was a cot situated in the corner, and a window across from the door. And sitting by the window was a small figure clothed in a dingy white gown.

He froze, a sudden chill going through his body and resting in his very bones. He knew this…he'd seen it before. He closed his eyes for a moment before taking a step forward. The floor creaked beneath his feet and he stopped, eyeing the tiles dubiously.

A light giggle made him look up. The little girl was watching him with an angelic smile on her face. A face that might have once been pretty, but no more. Instead, it looked as though it were in the later stages of decomposition. The skin, where it still clung to the skull, was taunt and pale. It looked as though it would fall away to dust if a slight wind came a long. The eyes were sunken and dry.

Grissom recoiled in horror, taking one step backwards. The floor creaked beneath his foot even louder this time, and he looked down at it tensely.

"You won't forget me, will you?" the 'girl' asked. "Everyone else will. But not you…you won't. You promise, right? Promise you won't forget me."

Another step backwards, and everything happened at once. The girl vanished from view a split second before the floor gave out beneath Grissom's feet, plummeting him into the never-ending darkness below.

* * *

Sara stood in front of the door to Grissom's home nervously. Was she over-stepping her boundaries here? Coming to his home…After all, Warrick could be right. He may have called Catherine to tell her that he was taking the shift off.

But what if he hadn't? What if he needed help? Her mind ran through a million possibilities of what could be going on, each one less pleasant than the last. She shook her head. In all likelihood, he was fine. A little under the weather, but fine.

But still…She raised a hand and knocked a few times on the front door. She then felt an overwhelming sense of dread come over her, settling in her stomach. He could be very angry with her for disturbing him…Should she just leave?

She had plenty of time to decide what to do, as it was a good three minutes before she heard any noise on the other side of the door. There was the sound of locks being turned, and the door was pulled open to reveal a very tired Grissom. His hair was mussed, and there were very obvious circles under his eyes. She wondered briefly how long he'd been having trouble sleeping.

He leaned against the door jamb and peered at her with half-lidded eyes, which he rubbed with the palm of his hand to try to get some focus out of them. "Sara?" he questioned, his voice slurred. He blinked a few times, finally focusing on her face.

Sara opened her mouth to speak, but found that all words had disappeared from her mind. She found herself studying the ground, until a soft cough from Grissom got her attention

He was still looking at her, an expression of curiosity mixed with fatigue. He cleared his throat and stepped to the side, awkwardly gesturing inside with his hand. "Did you…want to come in?"

Sara nodded and swallowed a lump that had formed in her throat. Then she stepped over the threshold, peering around as Grissom shut the door behind them. He moved past her, towards the kitchen.

"Did you want a drink or something?" he asked, trying to find something, anything to keep himself busy.

"Um…sure," Sara said distractedly, looking around the apartment. Though there seemed to be a state of perpetual chaos, nothing in it seemed to be terribly out of place. She could see nothing that would shed any light on why Grissom looked like the walking dead.

She felt a tap on her arm, and turned to see Grissom holding a glass out to her. "Water's all I've got. The Coke went flat and the milk expired."

She accepted the glass from him and watched as he walked to the couch and wearily sank onto it. "That's fine, thanks."

He leaned his head back on the couch, closing his eyes for a moment before lifting his head to study her. "Was there something that you needed?"

Sara moved around the littered coffee table to perch on the edge of the couch. "I just…" She exhaled, and took a moment to set her glass down on the table. It gave her a brief moment to compose her thoughts. "I'm just a little worried about you, that's all. You've been acting a little…strange lately, and you look like hell."

Grissom smirked. "Thanks for the compliment." He ran a hand over his face. "It's nothing, really, Sara. I just haven't been sleeping well."

"It's more than that, Grissom."

He attempted to give her a side-ways glance that usually meant 'oh please', but it failed when he saw the expression on her face. There was no curiosity, no mocking. Only concern. Complete concern for his well-being. And something else…A knowledge, or understanding.

He sighed, and Sara saw something in him break. "I can't sleep. I try to but…I keep having these…" Grissom's expression changed, as though he had something foul tasting in his mouth. "These nightmares," he finally said.

Sara tensed, knowing all too well the kind of nightmares that a person in their line of work could be cursed with. "What kind of nightmares?"

Grissom stared at her for a long moment before abruptly turning and digging through the papers and magazines piled on his small coffee table. He pulled out a manila folder, stuffed with papers. He opened it up and pulled out a small stack of pictures, handing it to Sara.

It was a little girl, front tooth missing as she smiled at the camera. She was on a swing, her slight hands holding tight to the rope. Sara turned to the next photo, seeing the same girl sitting on the floor of a house, wrapping paper and boxes strewn around her. She flipped to the next picture, and felt her heart drop.

It was the same little girl, albeit a bit older than in the last photo. She was wearing a white hospital gown, her face drawn and eyes vacant. The rest of the stack was like that, save for the few that were close up pictures of the cuts and bruises littering the small body.

Sara put them down and looked up at Grissom, who was studying her intently. "Her name was Melissa Felton. She was eight years old." His gaze went down to the pictures. "We got a call a few weeks to investigate a woman's dead body that had been found in an apartment. They already had the boyfriend in custody, so that part was simple. But we found Melissa hiding in a closet, looking like that."

He reached out and gently took the first picture from Sara, looking at the girl's smiling face. "She had a long history of abuse. Always at the hands of her mother's current boyfriend." His gaze went back to Sara. "She watched that man kill her mother. The doctors couldn't get her to talk, to eat, anything."

Grissom took the rest of the pictures from Sara and put them back in the folder. "She died last week. She just wasted away to nothing." He closed his eyes. "I can't get her out of my head, Sara."

Sara didn't know what to say. She could say that she knew how it felt, but knew it would sound hollow and contrived. She could say she was sorry, but knew it would have the same effect. So instead, she relied on the memory of a night that seemed so far in the past. She reached over and carefully took his hand in hers.

* * *

"Hey, Grissom. Hodges identified that powder we found on the vic's shirt. It's a veterinary antibiotic commonly known as Tucoprim. We checked it out, and it turns out that the vic's boyfriend owns a horse. We were gonna go check out the stable. You wanna come?" Nick asked from the doorjamb.

Grissom looked up from his desk, where his tarantula was currently exploring the terrain. "No thanks, Nick. I think I'm going to head out a bit early today."

Nick studied his supervisor for a moment before nodding and heading towards the building exit. Grissom stared at the spot where the young man had stood, then turned his attention back to the spider, who had found his way beneath a folder. He pulled it out and went to put it back in its aquarium.

A soft knock on the door caught his attention, and her turned to see Sara standing there. She watched the spider for a moment with a dubious expression, then turned back to Grissom. "I just wanted to let you know that me and the guys were going to check out the boyfriend's stable."

Grissom nodded and made his way back to his desk, though he didn't sit. Sara gave him a small smile, then turned to leave.

"Oh, Sara," Grissom called. Sara stopped in her tracks and turned to him. "Are we still on for tonight?" he asked.

Sara smiled. "Definitely." With that, she followed in Nick's footsteps, leaving him behind. But not alone.

A little girl stood in the doorway, clad in a dress with daisies on it. Her eyes were lively and mischievous as she stared at him. As he watched, she gave him a smile before turning and heading down the hall, vanishing from view.

END


End file.
